(Berry)
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Way down in Louisiana close to New Orleans, way back in the woods among the evergreens,
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there stood a log cabin made or earth and wood,
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where lived a country boy name of Johnny B. Goode.
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He never ever learned to read or write so well, but he could play a guitar just like a ringing bell.
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Go go go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, Johnny B. Goode.
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He used to carry his guitar in a gunny sack, go sit beneath a tree by the railroad track.
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The engineers would see him sitting in the shade strumming to the rhythm that the drivers made.
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The people passing by they would stop and say, oh my, but that little country boy can play.
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Go go go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, Johnny B. Goode.
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Well, his momma told him, "Some day you will be a man.
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You will be the leader of a big old band.
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Many people coming from miles around just to hear you play your music till the sun goes down.
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Maybe someday your name'll be in lights, saying, 'Johnny B. Goode tonight."
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Go go go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, Johnny B. Goode.
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Go go go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, go Johnny go go, Johnny B. Goode.
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Johnny B. Goode
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John Denver |